A bizarre and terrifying experience; I messed up the dungeon world.

The crowd was silent for a few seconds, then someone raised their hand.

"Commander, what if they die?"

Li Feng glanced at the man: "Try not to die."

This answer was as good as saying nothing. Zhou Lang noticed that the soldiers behind Li Feng all looked tense, gripping their guns tightly. These soldiers were afraid too.

"Now we'll divide into groups," Li Feng said. "Each group will consist of eight people, randomly assigned by the system. Once inside the instance, each group will disperse and clear out the monsters in their respective areas. We'll eventually regroup on the third underground level."

Zhou Lang frowned. Random grouping meant he couldn't team up with Zhao Qiang and Han Yingying.

As expected, the system assigned Zhou Lang to group seven. Zhao Qiang was in group three, and Han Yingying was in group five.

"Be careful." Zhao Qiang patted Zhou Lang on the shoulder.

Zhou Lang nodded and turned to find his team.

The meeting point for Group Seven was on the left, and several people were already standing there. Zhou Lang walked over and looked his teammates over.

A middle-aged man, in his early forties, wearing a leather jacket, with an old scar on his face, leaned against the wall smoking; his fingers were slightly yellowed.

A little girl, who looked only thirteen or fourteen years old, with pigtails, was hugging a dirty teddy bear. So young, and already caught up in a horror game? Zhou Lang felt uneasy.

A woman wearing glasses, around thirty years old, with a very proper demeanor, like a teacher, was examining a copy of a map in her hand, her lips pressed tightly together.

A tall, thin man, still wearing his white coat, with his name tag pinned to his chest—Third Municipal Hospital, Surgery Department.

A burly man, bald, with arms thicker than Zhou Lang's thighs and calloused fists, clearly a trained fighter.

There was another woman.

Zhou Lang glanced at it a couple more times.

She was in her early twenties, with short hair, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and carrying a backpack. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but she was very distinctive—big eyes, thin lips, a pointed chin, and a clever look.

She was also sizing up Zhou Lang, her gaze lingering on the chainsaw at his waist and the cane in his hand.

"Everyone's here." The middle-aged man stubbed out his cigarette. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Old Chen. I've been to the dungeon three times and I'm a two-star player."

"Fang Yi, the doctor." The tall, thin man pushed up his glasses. "A one-star player, entering an A-level dungeon for the first time."

"Liu Qian," the woman with glasses said, "a high school teacher, a two-star player."

The bald, burly man crossed his arms: "Ma Zhuang. Boxer. Two stars."

The little girl hugged her teddy bear tightly and whispered, "My name is Xiaotao... Yixing."

The short-haired woman spoke: "Gu Nian, a one-star player, second instance."

Everyone looked at Zhou Lang.

"Zhou Lang. Two stars."

Old Chen looked him up and down: "You've brought so much equipment, you're well-prepared."

Zhou Lang didn't reply. He was observing the equipment of these people. Old Chen had a dagger at his waist, the blade darkened, probably a ghost weapon. Ma Zhuang had iron knuckle dusters on both fists, also ghost weapons. Liu Qian held a red piece of chalk in her hand, which Zhou Lang couldn't recognize. Fang Yi had two syringes clipped to his chest. Xiao Tao's teddy bear looked ordinary, but Zhou Lang felt something was off about it.

Gu Nian didn't take anything; her hands were empty.

"An A-rank in the second instance?" Zhou Lang glanced at her. Either she had some trump card, or she was forcibly conscripted like him.

"Operation begins!" Li Feng's voice came from the loudspeaker.

The gates of the abandoned factory slowly opened. It was pitch black inside; nothing could be seen.

Each group entered in turn. When it was the seventh group's turn, Lao Chen went first, followed by Ma Zhuang. Zhou Lang walked in the middle, right next to Xiao Tao.

The moment Zhou Lang stepped into the factory, he felt the ground beneath his feet tremble.

Then--

Suddenly everything went white.

When Zhou Lang opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in a corridor. Cement walls, a corrugated iron roof, and rusty iron doors on both sides. The interior of the factory, but completely different from what he saw from the outside.

There were only seven people left around him.

The people from the other groups have all disappeared.

"We've separated," Liu Qian said. "The instance teleported each group to different areas."

"Is the map still usable?" Zhou Lang asked.

Liu Qian unfolded the map, looked at it, and shook her head: "The map only shows our current area. It looks like we're on the second floor of the factory, codenamed 'Sector B'."

Old Chen pulled a compass from his pocket; the needle was spinning wildly. "It's ruined," he said, putting the compass away. "There's interference here."

Ma Zhuang clenched his fist: "Stop dawdling, if there's something fishy, ​​then fight."

Zhou Lang didn't speak. He was listening.

The corridor was eerily quiet. There was no wind, no chirping of insects, and you could hear your own breathing clearly.

"Bandages," Zhou Lang said softly.

"Here." The bandaged man's voice came from his wrist, very softly, only Zhou Lang could hear it.

"Did you sense anything?"

"Three," the bandaged man said. "There are three in the second room on the left at the end of the corridor. They're not strong; they're probably just regular dungeon minions."

Zhou Lang nodded and said to his teammates, "There's something ahead. Three of them, but not the Stitched Corpse Demon."

Old Chen glanced at him: "How did you know?"

"My ghost artifact has the ability to sense things."

Old Chen didn't ask any more questions. These days, everyone has their secrets.

The group moved forward cautiously. At the end of the corridor, they turned left, and the iron door to the second room was half-open.

Zhou Lang turned on the oil lamp, and the blue flame illuminated the space inside the door.

It was an old workshop, not very big, filled with some old, discarded machinery. Three humanoid figures were crouching in the corner, their backs to them.

The creature had no skin; its entire body was exposed muscle tissue, with its joints sewn together with wire. They were gnawing on something—Zhou Lang looked closely and saw it was a dead rat.

"Ghost minions," Liu Qian whispered. "One-star level, three of them. Normally they shouldn't be difficult to deal with, but don't forget that the monsters in this dungeon can revive."

"What about the resurrection interval?" Zhou Lang asked.

"It wasn't mentioned in the intelligence report."

Zhou Lang glanced back at his teammates. Old Chen gripped his dagger, calm and collected. Ma Zhuang was already in a fighting stance. Fang Yi took a half-step back, clearly not skilled in direct combat. Xiao Tao hid behind Liu Qian. Gu Nian stood at the very back, her expression serene.

"Ma Zhuang and I will lead the charge," Old Chen said. "The rest of you, watch out for your rear and don't get ambushed."

Zhou Lang pulled the chainsaw. The engine roared, and the three henchmen turned their heads at the same time.

There are no eyes. The face only has a sewn-on mouth with rough stitches and wire running through the upper and lower lips.

They screech and pounced.

Old Chen's dagger sliced ​​through the neck of the first grunt ghost. Black liquid spurted out. Ma Zhuang punched the second one in the chest, Iron Finger Tiger piercing its chest cavity.

Zhou Lang faced the third one. The chainsaw teeth bit into its shoulder, splitting it in two from its left shoulder to its right waist.

Three grunt ghosts fell to the ground. The whole thing happened in less than ten seconds.

"Simple." Ma Zhuang shook the black liquid off his fist.

Zhou Lang didn't relax. He stared at the corpse on the ground, waiting to see if it would come back to life.

One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes.